For over four weeks, all he’s done is challenge me to fight. I’ve refused every time, so he’s fought Niko instead. Not that that’s been a chore—they’re kind of evenly matched in physical strength.
Problem is, every time I’ve said no, Yulian’s dirtied my shit with blood. First my face, then my notebooks and pens, then my damn clothes and shoes.
I nearly killed him when I opened my closet to find most of my neatly folded clothes scattered all over the room, touched by clearly bloodied hands. As if he snuck in right after a fight just to leave his mark.
He was only saved by being on the mountain to fetch wood for a punishment—which is a constant occurrence with him.
As mad as I was, I was glad he wasn’t around. I would’ve played right into his hands by starting a fight. The whole reason he did it was to get me to use my fists.
Which I refuse to do.
Instead, I’ve sabotaged his already shaky relationship with the mentors. I make sure they know whenever he’s sleeping during morning class, which is always. I signal every time he misses a chore, which results in him having to do double everything.
Due to his general laziness and unwillingness to put any effort into anything that doesn’t involve his fists, he gets punished the most.
He’s had to do more chores than anyone, has been sent to fetch wood from the mountain almost every day, and he’s been voted the worst member for three weeks straight. And you can bet I voted.
The fourth week was snatched by Nikolai for starting fights.
Still, Yulian is the worst.
He’s loud, brash, and a complete idiot in the academic field. He has average learning skills and is subpar at best when it comes to strategizing. In class, Cyrus gives him ideas and answers, otherwise his absolute idiocywould’ve shown through by now.
The only thing this guy has is perfect shooting sheets and sheer strength.
And chaos.
And pranks, which he seems to be pulling on his guards and friends all the time.
Though “friends” is a stretch. The two other guysaccompanying him and Cyrus seem to respect him only because of his dad.
Actually, they don’t seem to like him that much.
The only one who’s always with him is Cyrus.
And Cyrus isn’t the son of any of the other leaders. Yes, I asked my dad when I called him soon after the camp started, and he mentioned that Cyrus’s origins are being kept under lock and key. All we know is that he’s being fostered by Yulian’s father.
When we finish wrestling and kicking each other senseless, Yulian and I are panting and barely standing. He looks rough, his mouth bloodied, his chest bruised, sweat dripping from his temples down to the veins in his neck, ghosting his collarbone and then slipping to his chest?—
I snap my eyes back to his, an uncomfortable rattling sensation coiling in my stomach.
Revulsion. Itmustbe revulsion.
We’re eyeing each other as we come to a standoff. One of us has to tap out, and it’snotgoing to be me.
“Is that all they teach you in New York?” Yulian pouts, blood coating his lips. “I expected more.”
I charge toward him, but when I try to punch him, he grabs my fist and swings me around so that my back is to his chest while he still has a hold of my arm. Then he twists my other fist behind my back.
“Tap out,” he whispers so close to my ear that discomfort rushes down my spine and into my veins. “Or I’ll break your arm.”
I fling forward to release myself, but he twists my arm harder, and I grunt as pain spreads and intensifies.
“You can’t win against me, Mishka. It’s impossible.”
I throw my head back and catch him in the chin. A groan fills my ringing ears as the pain sharpens in my arm.
Then, all of a sudden, we’re flung away from each other.
